Krela Dee
by E-Mort
Summary: The Doctor suffers quietly his new found solitude after he is left with an empty TARDIS. With Rose, Donna, Jack and Martha all traipsing off to restart there lives the Doctor must now make a decision: To mope or not to mope? That is the question.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The Doctor has always been somewhat of a curiosity. A man that can travel back and forth through the time, landing at any destination he chooses and yet no matter how hard he tries, he has a habit of running into someone or something that wants to kill him. The universe is such a big place, an infinite jungle of stars for him to explore and somehow, even in a tiny warehouse on the outskirts of Cardiff (in which our good Doctor has been "vacationing" for the last month) the Doctor finds an old "friend".

It is 12.30 am and surrounded by thin corrugated metal the TARDIS seems to have fused itself to the floor. Not used to staying in one position for so long, it finds itself contemplating abandoning its partner in crime, well maybe just for an hour or so. If the Doctor were to see it gone, he would perhaps be brought out of the constant stupor, maybe just enough to take up travelling again. The dismal grey walls are beginning to have some form of effect on the TARDIS, in fact after researching on the internet it is beginning to wonder if it could be diagnosed with clinical depression, though it doubts if that is even possible.

However it is too late to go now; a key is inserted in the lock. The Doctor stands outside the TARDIS door, preparing himself for what he is about to see, willing a smiling face to greet him as he pushes open the gateway to his own private hell. But the spectacular sight of the room that is bigger on the inside seems even emptier than usual and little sparks of pain dance around his hearts.

In the last year so many friends had come and gone, each leaving their own set of ragged footprints around his mind. Of course there were two people in particular that he tried not to think about the most. He tried, and the majority of the time he failed, miserably. But he had stopped crying. Though, now he just spent hours on end, wandering the streets of Cardiff, unable to face the possible prospect of a new companion.

He moved, with the air of a man broken by the world, over to the console and ran his fingers along its edge. Remembering how glorious it had been when all its stations were taken, the Doctor sighed. The TARDIS sighed too, then spat a message onto the monitor.

"Are you ever going to get over this?"

The Doctor frowned at the screen and slumped into a recently purchased leather recliner.

"I'm beginning to rust you know…"

"You're a wooden box. You don't rust."

"And you're a Time Lord. You don't mope."

"What are you, my mother?"

"Well actually, I'm beginning to feel more like your wife."

There was a deathly silence.

"Look all I'm saying is, if you're going to walk round and round and round and round……"

"Yes I get the idea."

"Could you at least dump me somewhere with a view? Somewhere with sunlight! Or hell, we're in Cardiff, I wouldn't even mind going to stay with Jack for a while!"

The Doctor was beginning to seethe with the long forgotten emotion of frustration. His hearts began to pump faster and faster as the screen suggested numerous places he could leave the TARDIS whilst he "worked himself into a suicidal hole and refused to accept help".

Just as he reached boiling point, the screen went suddenly dark. Then two yellow words flashed up, "Proximity Alert."

There was a quick scramble as the Doctor fumbled to find his sonic screwdriver, buried in the mountains of self-pity, and then he jogged to the door, feeling once again, waves of excitement. He opened the door a crack and peered out. Nothing.

"If this is some cheap ploy…" he hissed at the room.

Tentatively, he put one converse bearing foot out and slid into the warehouse, closing the door behind him.

It was then that the Doctor saw the building for what it really was, a large desolate cave, to hide his larger, even more desolate cave. It housed a few shipping containers, all of which were no longer iron, just iron oxide, and several small wooden crates filled with mouse droppings and the faeces of other small nesting animals. How had he sunk this low? Now he could see clearly, he understood why the TARDIS seemed to be projecting PMT symptoms.

He trod carefully across the cement floor, surveying the area, and gradually the idea of the TARDIS pulling a fast one of him grew more and more likely. When he reached the door, a great pulse of energy ran up his spine causing him to stiffen, turn swiftly on his heel and begin marching back towards the Police Box that seemed to have shrunk into the corner.

But as he took his first step he heard a noise that made every hair stand on end. It was a mechanical noise, a whirring. He dived between the two nearest containers, dreading what he believed to be true. Because if he was right, and let's face it The Doctor is usually correct in any presumption he makes, there was one last Dalek for him to deal with.

"DOCTOR!" came the echoing robotic voice.

"Why am I always right? And why is there always another one?"

"I KNOW YOU ARE HERE DOCTOR. COME. FACE ME!"

Shaking himself off, the Doctor attempted to achieve an air of confidence (with a hint of boredom) and stepped out into the centre of the warehouse. There before him stood one of many genetic soldiers (or upside down dustbins as he secretly called them) that had thus far, had managed to make his life 'eventful' at the very least. This one was of a brassy colour; nothing unusual there then, they'd been that way for a while. However, it seemed strangely familiar, and if Daleks had emotional and behavioural signs, it occurred to him that this Dalek was trying to pull off the same confidence/boredom combo he was.

"DOCTOR. WE MEET AGAIN."

A smile crawled up to the corners of the Doctor's mouth; a cliché was never lost on him.

"I AM DALEK KAHN."

The smile disappeared.

"You're dead."

"NO"

"Pretty sure you are."

"I AM NOT DEAD DOCTOR. I AM ALIVE AND IN FRONT OF YOU."


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

Coffee scathed the Doctor's skin; the polystyrene container smacked him across the cheek. Why did he always hit someone when he was running?

The wide Cardiff high street wasn't exactly busy and yet still he had managed to run head long into some poor creature. As he picked him self up off the floor and brushed himself down, the Doctor remembered his first meeting with Martha Jones and smiled, though well, it was more her first meeting with him. He'd been a little more composed dashing around back then.

He looked up at his victim. A young woman, early twenties, stood stock still in front of him. Her clean white top now bore a large, brown see through stain, revealing her rather extravagant lacy underwear. The Doctor bit his lip.

She was incredibly attractive, even he could recognise that. Her sleek figure was out lined with a tight fitting pencil skirt and black velvet knee length coat. As he waited for the torrent of insults, he watched her closely. Her eyes were closed, she was murmuring something too quietly to hear and her arms stuck out rigidly causing passers by to stare and swerve round her.

The thought occurred that he could just tiptoe away, but she seemed to be having some form of traumatic episode and he didn't want to leave her; it was his fault.

"Ur...Miss?"

Her eyes flew open and the Doctor stiffened, paralysed by the woman's intense stare. She pulled her arms down and swallowed hard, keeping eye contact. A tantalisingly oblique smile began to curl at the corners of her mouth. An incredible sense of rediscovered composure began to radiate itself from her features.

The Doctor was transfixed and not because he felt intimidated or overwhelmed with desire, but because her eyes…they were so unmistakeably familiar. They were large and feline. A startling, luminous green edged its way round her pupils. Flecks of black, splattered her irises. Who was this woman?

She continued to smile as she did up her coat, hiding the hideous stain that lay beneath, and as she walked away the Doctor turned to watch her go. He knew her and he knew that she shouldn't be here, yet at them same time he had never met her before. It was instinct that let him know; a sudden spine tingling reaction that only ever occurred when something was very, very wrong. She disappeared around a corner and he glanced down at his battered old converse. Should he run after her? Was he ready to take on this challenge?

"Excuse me. Sir?" The Doctor span round. "I found this on the floor. I believe it belongs to that woman you just ran into."

A man in a ragged old suit held out a piece of laminated card and the Doctor took it obligingly. It was a business ID card.

"Well Miss… Krela Dee, someone shall have to return this to you."

In a blur of pinstripe and Macintosh, the Time Lord broke into a sprint once again, managing somehow to manoeuvre around each and every person with ease. He ran in the opposite direction to which the girl had gone, back to his TARDIS, for this required equipment that the Doctor had only just begun to unpack form the brown cardboard boxes, which he had pilled high in one of his empty many rooms.

A sudden rush forced laughter from his lungs; "Live a fantastic life." It was what he had always said and who was he to deny his own words? He rushed into the TARDIS and began riffling through the piles of space "junk" that littered the console.

"New case?" the words pulsated on the LCD monitor.

The Doctor just smiled.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The Mercure Hotel in Cardiff is popular for two reasons:

The facilities are of a five star quality 24/7 and…

The staff don't ask questions.

Yes, it was company policy not to ask any questions. A person went missing, nothing was reported. Large amounts of money needed to be kept in the safe? No problem! You wish to keep a few kilograms of cocaine under your mattress? Enjoy you're stay Sir!

Of course there were certain benefits to having this kind of report with clientele. If you didn't ask questions, then no-one felt the need to pry into your life. The Mercure Hotel was all about privacy and that is what Krela Dee loved about the place. That and as chief concierge the pay was pretty dam phenomenal.

Her father had found her the job several years before he had died. He had reserved it for her, so that as soon as she left college she could just, stroll right into it. Father had been a man of immense power and Krela Dee was a woman that understood just how much pleasure could be found through control.

She felt it now as she sat behind the sleek mahogany desk and waited for her brand new member of staff to scurry through the doors. She imagined that it was the same kind of pleasure that a cat revelled in as it danced devilishly with a mouse. Her skin exuded the happiness of a young child, though her domineer remained perfectly professional. And then the door opened.

Her mouth gapped. The man that stood before her was a man of which she dreamed of regularly. He swaggered into the centre of the room and propped himself up on the chair that stood several inches from her desk. His hair was combed backwards, messily, his eyes were a luxurious chocolate brown, filled with energy, and his body was proportioned in such a way that she struggled to hold onto her subtle air of hostility. Coffee Burn Guy.

Since the day he had run into her, she had been plagued with his image whilst she slept, aware that somehow… she new him. She had recognised the fire in his eyes despite his meek, embarrassed persona, which seemed to have dissolved now as he slipped a white laminated ID badge across the desk.

"You dropped this, the other day." He smiled gently, oblivious to the fact that blood was currently trying to burst out through her cheeks. If he hadn't been so unexpected, maybe, just maybe she would have been able to string a sentence together. For example, "What's your name?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm the…John Smith. I believe I'm your new bar tender."

Whether she'd actually asked the question she wasn't entirely sure, but the name and the idea that he was her employee brought Miss Dee back down to Earth swiftly.

"My bar tender? Can you really be trusted around fluids?" she stifled a wince at the innuendo in her statement.

The man gave a small self-conscious laugh.

"I am sorry about that. I insist on paying for your dry cleaning bill."

"No need, my salary if quite impressive. I'm sure I can afford about oh…." she whistled, slowly becoming aware of just how conceited she sounded, "Ten copies of that particular blouse without breaking my monthly budget."

"John" feigned a look of shock.

Krela rose to her feet and glided round to the front of her desk, perching herself on its edge and crossing her legs.

"Please, sit."

With a small bounce of energy, Mr Smith vaulted the arm of the chair and arranged himself comfortably. He pulled out a pair of thick, black rimmed glasses and positioned them on his nose as she handed him notices and payment schemes. His head nodded in time to her voice as she ran through staff policy, his expected routine and responsibilities. All the time the erg to ask one question grew and grew. She felt that the air around her was becoming thick with the tension of the unanswered sentence. Then finally, after the long and hefty "welcome" speech, she gave everyone, her professionalism subsided and the words tacked themselves on effortlessly; "I'm sorry, but do I know you from somewhere?"

It took him a moment to realise what she had just asked. An unexpected ripple of emotion danced across his face as he got to his feet.

"I don't believe I've ever met you before." He replied and turned to walk out.

She watched him, filled with the utmost sense of anti-climax and completely unaware that deep down "John Smith", The Doctor was whispering, "But I do know you."


End file.
